


so baby be the life of the party

by La_Temperanza



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Birthday Party, Fluff and Humor, Innuendo, M/M, Oblivious Katsuki Yuuri, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Single Parents, YOI Career Week
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-24
Updated: 2018-12-12
Packaged: 2019-02-06 08:09:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12813276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/La_Temperanza/pseuds/La_Temperanza
Summary: As far as part-time jobs go, dressing up as cartoon animals and performing for children's parties isn’t the most orthodox nor glamorous line of work, but Yuuri Katsuki likes it well enough. Especially when his idol, famous movie actor Viktor Nikiforov, comes into the shop wanting to plan a birthday for his soon to be six-year old half-brother, Yuri.(Or the one where Yuuri obliviously seduces Viktor with balloon animals.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Um, so this was supposed to be a quick ficlet for YOI Career Week about a job I had back in college, but 4K in I realized I wanted this to be a lot longer. So yay multichaptered fic coming soon?! :D?
> 
> Unbeta’d so please let me know if any errors. Thanks to Ollie for the hand-holding. <3
> 
> (Title from Shawn Mendes - Life Of The Party)

Yuuri was in the middle of tying off the pink balloon in his hands when _he_ walked in. 

What happened next could be best described as a classic comedy of errors: the end of the oblong balloon slipped out of Yuuri’s grasp, leaving him to watch in silent horror as it zig-zagged around the room with a loud whooshing sound. It landed on top of the life-sized cardboard cutout the company manager, Celestino, had printed out of his clown persona, the deflated latex dangling over Ciao Ciao’s colorfully painted face. 

Any other time, Yuuri would’ve burst out laughing at the turn of events, but now any humor derived from the situation took a backseat in favor of him staring at the one and only Viktor Nikiforov. The same Viktor Nikiforov who played the lead role in not one but _three_ of last year’s blockbuster movies, had tons of awards and accolades under his belt that he started receiving as a teenager, was consistently voted one of Hollywood’s hottest young bachelors, and not to mention the main star in many, _many_ of Yuuri’s own private fantasies. When Yuuri originally heard the news of Viktor moving into town three months ago after a family tragedy, his subconscious had wasted no time concocting different daydreams of what it would be like if their paths should align. None of them had ever involved Viktor looking like he walked over the cover of a fashion magazine, dressed in fitted cream slacks and a tight midnight blue v-neck with a tailored jacket slung over his shoulders, while Yuuri wore a pair of jean capris and a bright orange t-shirt that read, ‘ASK ME HOW I’M A PARTY ANIMAL!’ in neon green text.

(The company had designed their employee uniforms to be ‘wacky’ and ‘eye-catching,’ not necessarily ‘eye-pleasing.’ It was at least comfortable, so Yuuri had worn it without any real complaint. Until now.)

“Hiiii~!” Viktor called out with a small wave. Judging by the amusement written on his face, it was obvious he had noticed the blunder with the balloon. He graciously didn’t mention it, saving Yuuri any further embarrassment. “I heard you guys do birthday parties?”

“Um,” Yuuri said. His mind was too busy short-circuiting over the realization that the real Viktor Nikiforov was currently standing less than five feet in front of him to say anything more than that. 

Luckily he had his co-worker and best friend nearby to come to his rescue. “Hi, welcome to Party Animals!” Phichit greeted in his usual chipper tone as he returned Viktor’s wave. “And yeah, birthdays are our specialty.” He put down the balloon animal he had been practicing on—his attempt at creating a hamster—before he asked, “What sort of party were you looking for?”

“I don’t really know to be honest with you,” Viktor admitted, his grin faltering a little. “It’s for my brother who’s turning six in a couple of weeks, and I wanted to do something extra special for him this year.”

He didn’t go into detail on why it needed to be so special, but Yuuri had a good idea. When Viktor’s mother and stepfather were killed instantly in a head-on collision on their way home from a holiday party back in November, their deaths had been broadcasted on every the major news outlet. Everyone had lauded Viktor for his professionalism as he wrapped up production on his latest film while juggling funeral arrangements, and how responsible it was for him to claim guardianship of his younger brother not long afterwards. The thing Yuuri remembered the most was the wan, empty smile plastered on Viktor’s face during interviews, his heart aching at the thought of Viktor not being allowed time to grieve away from the limelight. 

“Well, we can definitely help you with that.” Phichit pulled out a tablet from his backpack from underneath the work-table and loaded his personal pride and joy: the company’s official Instagram which he insisted on maintaining himself. “Here, you can see a few examples of what we can do,” he explained, angling the screen so it would be visible to Viktor. “Besides balloon animals, face painting, and party games, we also offer Ciao Ciao the Clown and our various costumed characters.”

“Costumed characters?” Viktor cocked his head to the side. “You mean like the kind they have in amusement parks? You have those here?”

“Yep!” Phichit nodded and brought up a few example pictures to showcase what he meant. There was a reason why he was the one who handled the business side of things while Yuuri was content with the performing aspect. Phichit had a real knack for selling the spiel of what they did; he’d even been known to attract potential clients while standing in line at the grocery store. “It’s what a lot of our customers go for,” Phichit said. “We have superheros, fantasy princesses, and pretty much every cartoon character you can think of. You name it, we have it, or can get it, no problem.”

“Ah I see!” Viktor’s eyes lit up and he tapped his chin with the tip of his index finger. “Do you have...what’s the name of that tiger that ice skates…?”

“Sasha the Siberian Skating Tiger,” Yuuri blurted out, suddenly regaining the function of speech. He felt more than saw Viktor’s aqua blue eyes turn to focus on him; every time in the past when he had wished he would be the subject of that gaze, he never thought it would be because of something ridiculous like a fictional talking cat. “He’s among our most popular characters this year, but, well,” he continued to ramble on, “we can’t technically say it’s him in the paperwork, because then we would have to pay the extra licensing fees, but—”

Oh. 

Oh _no_.

He had just admitted they were using copycat likenesses of trademarked characters to someone who worked in showbusiness. To someone who would have no problem getting the number to the studio who created Sasha and have it on speed-dial. Viktor could shut them down right now and get their pants sued off for copyright infringement if he truly wanted, and there was nothing they could do about it. Yuuri was just a college student struggling to make ends meet; he could barely afford his share of rent half of the time, let alone the cost of a personal lawyer. 

“—it’s close enough that the children don’t know the difference and are happy,” Viktor finished for him, smiling. “And I’m sure most parents wouldn’t be able to afford it otherwise. I think it’s a wonderful thing you’ve created!”

Yuuri released the breath he had been holding, his shoulders sagging with relief. Thank goodness Viktor seemed to be so understanding. “It wasn’t our idea,” Yuuri said, his cheeks tinged pink at Viktor’s slight praise. “We just work here.”

“Yuuri’s the best though.” Phichit threw an arm around Yuuri’s neck and then beamed at Viktor. “He’s a hit at alllll the parties. He gets into the character so well, and goes above and beyond. Everyone loves him!”

A soft splash of pink spread across Yuuri’s cheeks. While he was happy their customers were more than satisfied whenever he performed for their parties, it felt rather silly to be proud of his work when he compared to someone’s like Viktor. The two of them weren’t in the same league, or even the same ballpark for that matter, though maybe there’d be a chance for the scales to tip in Yuuri’s favor and balance out in the future. 

( _Maybe._ ) 

“Your name is Yuuri?” Viktor asked, raising an eyebrow as his smile grew, and _god_ , Yuuri was going to commit the way Viktor said his name in that wisp of a Russian accent to permanent memory. “That’s just like my brother’s name.” Before Yuuri could tell him it wasn’t exactly the same—or assure him it really was a coincidence and Yuuri wasn’t a crazed, stalkerish fan trying to earn bizarre brownie points—Viktor looked over the pictures on the tablet one more time before he handed it back to Phichit. “Okay, you’ve convinced me. I’d like to book a party with ‘Sasha’—” he did air-quotes and gave them both a over-exaggerated wink “—for March 1st please. He’s Yura’s favorite, so it’ll be perfect!”

“Sounds great!” Phichit nudged Yuuri in the side and gave him a knowing glance. “That’s one of our Yuuri’s favorites too.” He placed the tablet down on the table and gestured towards the door behind him. “Let me run to the office real quick and print out all the package deals and draw up a contract for you then. Our printer is pretty prehistoric though, so it might take me awhile. In the meantime, you can always ask Yuuri if you have any more questions. I’m sure he’ll be happy to help in any way he can.”

The whole thing reeked of an obvious set-up. Phichit even had the gall to mouth ‘ _you’re welcome_ ’ to Yuuri over Viktor’s shoulder before he disappeared into the back. 

“So, _Yuuri_ ~,” Viktor started once they were alone, drawing out the syllables in a way that did nothing to help Yuuri maintain his composure, “your favorite is Sasha, huh?”

Yuuri blinked. Out of all the questions he had been expecting to answer, that wasn’t one of them. “Uh, kind of,” he said, scratching idly at his cheek and bumping the underside of his glasses. “I like him because of the skating aspect, but I think I like his friend Pochi better—”

“Oh, oh, I know this one!” Viktor snapped his fingers together until the figurative lightbulb went off over his head. “Ah, I got it! He’s the poodle, right? I love poodles.” He dug through his pockets to pull out his phone and proudly displayed the photo on his lock screen. “I have one myself, see?”

To his credit, Yuuri resisted saying ‘I know,’ though any self-respecting Nikiforov fan would indeed be able to tell all about Viktor’s fondness for poodles already. It wouldn’t be very professional of Yuuri if he confessed to recognizing Viktor’s beloved poodle, Makkachin, from the hundreds of pictures Viktor posted of her on social media, or that Yuuri had a miniature poodle himself at home named after Viktor. Instead Yuuri smiled and admitted, “I love them too.”

Viktor turned his attention towards the work-table and zeroed in on the balloons that littered the surface. “Can you make me one?” he asked. If Yuuri didn’t know better, he would think Viktor—who always came off as smooth and suave in his public appearances—was acting _shy_. “A poodle I mean.”

It was hardly an unusual request, even if it did come from a surprising source. “Sure,” Yuuri said. He gathered up the necessary materials, selecting a base balloon whose shade of golden brown matched the color of Makkachin’s fur. He didn’t know how much of a lasting impression he could make in Viktor’s mind using balloon animals, but he was still determined to make the best poodle the world had ever seen. At least for the sake of business; if they wanted Viktor to sign a contract with the company, it wouldn’t hurt for Yuuri to demonstrate some of his skills. 

(That’s what he told himself anyway.)

Fitting the balloon over his trusty hand air-pump—and _no_ , that was not a euphemism, no matter how much Phichit liked to insinuate otherwise—Yuuri inflated the latex to the proportions he needed, ensuring he left proper room for air to shift around inside while he worked. The first form he learned when he had started working with balloons was the basic dog shape, which could easily be modified into a poodle if he wanted, but there was no way he was going to give anything ‘basic’ to Viktor. 

Yuuri began to pinch and twist the balloon into sections and winced at the screech of latex rubbing against itself. “Sorry. I forgot how noisy this can get.”

“I don’t mind.” Viktor watched with rapt fascination at the poodle springing to life in Yuuri’s hands. “I bet it doesn’t even bother you any more.”

“No, not really.” Yuuri shrugged and completed the poodle’s face and front legs in no time, the required movements equivalent to muscle memory for him due to constant past repetition. He went to work on the hindquarters next. “Most of time, there’s usually kids’ music blaring over the stereo system when I do this at parties anyway. I could probably sing every theme song out there forwards and backwards in my sleep by now.”

“Finally! Someone who understands!” Viktor clutched at his chest in mock pain, though his eyes sparkled with amused delight. “They’re so catchy too that they’ll worm their way inside your head and never leave. Yura used to want to play the Sasha song on repeat all the time and I caught myself humming it under my breath for weeks afterwards! It’s _awful_!”

Yuuri laughed and reached over to give Viktor a sympathetic pat on the back. Realization over what he was about to do struck when his fingers were mere inches away, and he snatched his hand back before Viktor noticed. Whoa, whoa, whoa, what was Yuuri _thinking_? He had been so close to touching Viktor, and while he was more down to earth and easier to talk to than the untouchable being Yuuri had made him out to be throughout the years, Yuuri didn’t have the right to be so forward. Especially since Viktor was now also a potential customer. 

“Here!” Yuuri thrust the finished balloon forward in effort to cover up his near-mistake. “A poodle, just like you asked.”

“Wow, amazing! It looks just like Makka!” Viktor took the poodle like it was made from precious glass and held it aloft. He then grabbed Yuuri’s hands and squeezed them in his own, ignoring the shocked squeak that escaped Yuuri’s lips. If pressed for explanation later, Yuuri could blame it on the balloon stuck between them. 

“You’re very good with your hands,” Viktor said. His thumb stroked invisible patterns across Yuuri’s knuckles. “Has anyone ever told you that?”

All of Yuuri’s previous hesitations about touch melted away under the warmth of Viktor’s palms enclosed around his own. Not only that, Viktor had complimented him again, the words taking on a completely different meaning in Yuuri’s treacherous brain. He’d love to show Viktor how good he _really_ was with his hands if given the chance—no, he couldn’t continue that train of thought, not now; it was much too dangerous. 

“Well, it’s only because I’ve had plenty of practice,” Yuuri mumbled, and damn, that only succeeded in making things worse. “With balloons I mean!” He hastily added, his entire body flushed hot, awash with embarrassment. “I’ve had to go through a lot of them to get where I’m at now and I still have ones that don’t turn out so great.” He punctuated the statement with a grimace. “Let’s just say if you’re afraid of balloons popping, this isn’t the best profession for you to be in.”

“Hmm, I bet.” Viktor relinquished his grasp on Yuuri’s hands—much to Yuuri’s inner dismay—to scrutinize the poodle closer. He moved the tail part back and forth, a pantomime of a happy wag. “Still, you have a real talent for this! I always wondered how you got the puff on the end of the tail like that.”

Yes, good, there was Yuuri’s chance to get the conversation back on track to something safer. “It’s tricky to learn at first,” he explained, “because you have to stretch the deflated part without accidentally pulling too hard and breaking the latex.” He demonstrated what he meant, tugging on another balloon and showing how it could snap with enough force. “A much easier way to do it is to put the end in your mouth and suck the tip—” He froze mid-sentence, horror dawning in his features as comprehension of what he had just said caught up with him. “Not that we do that here!” He held up his hands in front of him and shook them, his anxiety screaming at him to abort the mission and exit the conversation as soon as possible. “It’s unhygienic, and the kids—”

Viktor threw back his head and laughed, the low and breathy rumble tugging at the knots twisting their way inside Yuuri. Then suddenly Viktor was way too close, even though he had hardly moved, his larger-than-life presence enveloping around Yuuri from every side and angle. “Really?” He murmured with a flutter of his long, fine silver eyelashes, the corners of his mouth quirking up into a grin. “I think I’d like to see that sometime.”

Yuuri froze. He had no idea how to respond to that. There was no reason for anyone to see him slobbering on the end of a balloon, easier technique or not, but it wasn’t like he could ignore Viktor either. Before his mind could overthink the situation any further, a rare burst of confidence surged up and coursed through his veins. He tilted his head to the side and returned Viktor’s grin. “Maybe I can show you later.” 

He clamped his mouth shut immediately afterwards, horrified he had managed to suggest such a thing. By the widening of Viktor’s eyes and the flare of his nostrils, Yuuri could tell he wasn’t the only one. 

They stared at each other for what felt like eternity, time slowed down to a crawl or stopped altogether. It was impossible to tell. The only sound Yuuri heard was the blood rushing in his ears and his heart beating a staccato in his chest. Finally, Viktor wet his lips with a swipe of his tongue, Yuuri’s eyes magnetized to the motion, and then opened his mouth to speak. “Y—”

Someone cleared their throat loudly behind them. Both of them swiveled around in tandem to see Phichit standing there, waving a stack of papers in his hand. “Sorry that took so long,” he said. His eyes darted back and forth between the two of them, suspicion barely hidden behind his bright smile. “What did I miss?”

“Nothing much.” Viktor’s voice was calm and collected, a direct contrast to the rush of confusing emotions churning inside Yuuri. Viktor shot a quick heated glance towards Yuuri’s direction, one Yuuri was sure Phichit picked up on, before he continued, “Yuuri and I were just discussing the finer points of his… _technique_.”

If the earth opened up underneath Yuuri and swallowed him whole right then and there, he would have greatly appreciated it. All of his previous self-confidence had retreated back from whence it came and left him alone to deal with the consequences of what happened in the minutes prior to Phichit’s reappearance. 

Except, he still wasn’t sure what _had_ happened, not exactly. Yuuri replayed their exchange in his head and overanalyzed it line by line, word by word, but it didn’t make any more sense no matter how often he repeated it. It was if he and Viktor had been carrying on two completely different conversations and Yuuri was left scrambling to translate their meaning. 

“Oh?” Phichit was the picture of innocence, but Yuuri wasn’t fooled. He knew Phichit was dying to hear every juicy sordid detail. “I told you he was the best, didn’t I?”

“Yes, I can definitely see that now.” Viktor huffed out a chuckle. He stepped forward and reached over towards Yuuri, his fingertips traveling up the back of Yuuri’s hand to his wrist and then his forearm. The touch was feather-soft, hardly a hint of pressure behind it, but it left a path of electrified nerve endings buzzing in its wake. “I hope to have you demonstrate more of your skills at the party.”

Yuuri scrambled backwards away from Viktor’s touch—ashamed by how much he had already come to enjoy it—and bumped into the table in his haste. He jabbed a shaky thumb in the direction of the balloons that covered the surface. “Um, I should let Phichit explain packages to you already and I need to get more balloons anyway!”

Viktor frowned, obviously confused, and Yuuri couldn’t blame him, feeling a little lost himself. “What?” Viktor asked. “Why do you—”

“ _It-was-nice-meeting-you-bye_!” Yuuri shouted. He didn’t bother waiting for a response, he just rushed out of the room to the safety of the utility closet where all their supplies were stored. The moment the door was closed shut tight behind him, he leaned against it, his head banging against the wood with a light _thunk_ , and released a shuddering breath. He knew it was cowardly to run away, but he hadn’t been able to process anything correctly when Viktor was right there in front of him, an actual tangible human being rather than a concept to be admired from afar. It affected Yuuri in ways that he had never expected, and now that he was alone, he was level-headed enough to work through and understand what he was feeling. Instead of anxious panic, his body thrummed with a nervous sort of excitement, and the hands covering his burning face couldn’t completely hide the smile that stretched from cheek to cheek. 

Not only did Viktor now know of Yuuri’s existence, his words suggested he expected to Yuuri to be at the party. Like it was already a done deal that Yuuri would be the one to perform, even though the company employed many other talented entertainers. 

Viktor _wanted him_. 

...That also meant if anything went wrong, it wouldn’t be just some poor kid’s birthday that was ruined. The possibility—along with its multiple consequences—seeped through the cracks in Yuuri’s mental defenses. If something bad happened, the question was whether Viktor would regret hiring the company in the first place, or worse, find himself partially to blame because he had put so much blind faith in Yuuri.

It made Yuuri’s stomach turn even considering it. 

Switching to automatic mode, Yuuri began to organize the stock by size, shape, and color, removing the older, brittle balloons that were more liable to break, and making a note on which ones needed to be reordered on the next shipment before they ran out. Soon, neatly formed stacks of plastic bins and containers surrounded him, a physical manifestation of his desperate attempt to keep his overactive thoughts at bay.

A knock disrupted him from his work, and before he could answer, the door opened and Phichit stuck his head inside. He more than anyone could recognize Yuuri’s abrupt need for reorganization for what it really was, having had plenty of experience dealing with it in the past. “Yuuri?” He asked, the concern clear in his eyes as he waited for Yuuri’s reaction before saying anything else. 

“Sorry for leaving like that.” Yuuri gave Phichit a wavering smile to reassure him that everything was okay, and then craned his head to try and peek out onto the main floor. “Is Viktor still out there?”

Phichit opened the door wider to reveal he was the only one standing there. “He just left a minute ago,” he said. “Congrats, whatever you told him must’ve worked, because he wound up booking the Royal VIP package.” He held up the filled-out paperwork and tapped at the lower right corner. “Look, he even paid for everything up front! That never happens for us.”

Yuuri took the paper for closer inspection and his eyes nearly bugged out of his head when he spotted the total amount. He figured for someone famous like Viktor the cost was like pocket change, but still, the idea of spending that much on a party was a surreal concept to Yuuri. “But I didn’t say anything!” he protested weakly. “We didn’t really talk much about the party—”

“You didn’t?” Phichit hovered a hand over his mouth and let out a pretend gasp, though they were both well aware he wasn’t surprised in the least. “Then what _were_ you two talking about while I was gone?”

Yuuri fidgeted, not sure how to start, though he definitely had the urge to spill everything. That surprised him; he was a private person by the design of both nature and nurture, but there was a sudden prideful side of him that almost wanted to broadcast to everyone in the entire world that he had captured Viktor Nikiforov’s attention, if only for a brief moment. “We talked about balloons,” he said, because that was technically the truth after all. Sort of.

“You talked about balloons?” Phichit echoed. He didn’t push much further than that; he never did, always patient enough to wait until Yuuri was ready to open up on his own terms. 

“He wanted me to make him a poodle,” Yuuri elaborated, still unable to wrap his head around the turn of events, “and he asked to see how I blow the tail end with my mouth for some reason.”

At first, Phichit didn’t say anything, which was worrying in of itself. Yuuri knew from their past escapades that a quiet Phichit was a dangerous thing; it tended to result in at least one of them doing something very embarrassing, with it Yuuri being the unfortunate victim more often than not. At least there were no copious amounts of alcohol involved this time.

“...Yuuri,” Phichit said slowly, like he was sharing an important revelation, “do you know what this means?”

Yuuri cringed. He could only imagine, and that was part of the problem. “That Viktor Nikiforov now thinks I have a weird thing for balloons?”

“Well, if he does, he’s totally into it.”

“ _Eh?!_ ” Yuuri squawked, blood rushing up to flood his face deep red. He shook his head to and fro and stuttered, “Please don’t say that…”

“Why not? I’m serious!” At Yuuri’s incredulous stare, Phichit amended, “Fine, maybe not so much about the balloon part, but you can’t tell me he’s not even the tiniest bit interested in you. He wasn’t exactly subtle about it.”

The memory of Viktor’s watchful eyes and warm hands sent a thrill racing up Yuuri’s spine, only for it to be followed by the crash of reality falling into place a half second later. “...It’s not like that,” he said, his voice ringing hollow in his ears. “Besides, he’s a customer now.”

“Yeah, for now,” Phichit said, “but once the party is over—” 

“—there’ll be no reason for me to see him again,” Yuuri finished, hating how unsteady he sounded. It wasn’t fair; even on the most unlikely chance some form of a relationship could blossom between him and Viktor, it had already been nipped in the bud by the circumstances dealt to him. It was better this way though, he thought as he rapidly blinked sudden dampness from his eyes. Eventually Viktor would return to Hollywood and if Yuuri was lucky, maybe Viktor would remember him fondly as something along the lines of ‘that poodle balloon guy.’

There was comforting squeeze to his shoulder, and when Yuuri looked up, Phichit was drawing him close but leaving enough space in case Yuuri needed it. “I don’t think you’re giving yourself or Viktor enough credit,” Phichit said. “You should enjoy yourself without worrying about if he’s going to stick around or not.”

“But—”

“There’s weeks before the party and still tons of planning involved,” Phichit pointed out, cutting off Yuuri’s protest. “You can at least use this an excuse to get to know him better. Isn’t that what you’ve always wanted?”

It was a treacherous line to traverse, and it would be so easy to fall off if not careful, but Yuuri couldn’t deny the temptation was there, beckoning despite his reservations. “Yeah,” he admitted, nodding with a trembling smile, “Yeah it is.”

“And who knows?” Phichit pulled back to waggle his eyebrows, his grin full of unadulterated cheek. “Maybe it turns out that balloons aren’t the only thing Viktor wants you to tie into knots.”

“ _Phichit!_ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \+ My managers were both clowns (professionally trained and everything), so I decided Celestino was a clown as a nod to them, plus c'mon, Ciao Ciao is such a clown name, haha!  
> \+ Our shirts probably weren't as garish as what I've described here, but they were pretty bad. (Not to mention that they had poorly drawn famous characters on them that I often had kids point to excitedly and jab me right in the chest.)  
> \+ Sasha and Pochi aren't real licensed characters (to my knowledge) but the latter is a blatant nod to the Sanrio line.  
> \+ We really couldn't put the names on the forms, so for like Dora, it was something like "Female Adventurer" and so on. _Real slick._  
>  \+ [Here's the basic dog balloon](https://cdn.instructables.com/F7P/RJ1Q/HMWW07HO/F7PRJ1QHMWW07HO.MEDIUM.jpg) and you can see how it could be made into a poodle by just adding a bubble to the tail. But Yuuri went one step above and made [an actual poodle](http://www.skythemagicguy.com/images/poodle-balloon.jpg).  
> \+ Yes, the [trick about putting the tail end in your mouth is real](https://books.google.com/books?id=T4YXuOhM8JkC&pg=PA46&lpg=PA46&dq=sucking+on+a+balloon+for+a+poodle&source=bl&ots=dac-qq93R8&sig=RoMrJdsK02XdpVcnQijGZfbCK0E&hl=en&sa=X&ved=0ahUKEwi15_OZhLTXAhUJ2yYKHawpDgYQ6AEIUTAL#v=onepage&q=sucking%20on%20a%20balloon%20for%20a%20poodle&f=false). In my experience it was a lot easier to get the bubble (and it looked better too), but _yeah_ not that professional. ~~And yes, of course we made a ton of BJ jokes.~~


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow yes, I know it's been a while, oops. To be honest I didn't know if I was going to continue this, considering how much I struggled with this chapter, but it wouldn't leave me be even after all this time. Thanks to the WWV chat for their support, especially Mary who is the best cheerleader anyone could ever ask for. <3
> 
>  **Note:** This is Viktor's POV so there's some discussion about parents passing and grief/guilt in this chapter, just a heads up.

“You’re doing it again.”

Viktor tore his gaze from his phone, his eyes widening for a fraction of a second at his little brother standing less than a foot away. How long had he been there? The last Viktor knew, Yuri had been deep within the confines of the McDonald’s playground, prowling through the primary color plastic tunnels like he was some sort of exotic jungle cat.

“Don’t tell me you’re done playing already, Yura,” Viktor teased, covering up his shock with a bright, wide grin. “Getting tired?”

“‘m not tired,” Yuri shot back, arms crossed over his chest, clearly on the brink of dissolving into what Viktor liked to call his ‘hissy kitten mode.’ “I wanted you to watch me go down the slide but you were on your phone again.”

“Ah, sorry! I didn’t see you.” Viktor locked his phone and held up his hands in apology. He had been admittedly distracted by browsing through the Party Animals Instagram to get a better idea of what to expect for the party—and to try and catch a glimpse of one staff member in particular—but he couldn’t say that without ruining his surprise.

Earlier that afternoon, when he had picked Yuri up after school, Yuri had spotted the poodle balloon in the back seat and deemed it “ _okay, but it’d be better if was a cat instead._ ” Viktor had quickly scrambled to come up with a story about a friend making it for him, lucky Yuri was too young to suspect anything else might have been going on.

Maybe it was because Viktor had sounded so earnest when he called the person who made the balloon a friend, even though the rush of emotions swirling in his lower gut were more than friendly in nature. Hours later, he was still daydreaming about those deft and clever fingers, that adorable pink flush, the sparks of gold in the set of warm brown eyes; the sudden switch from what Viktor thought was shyness to something unexpected, exciting. Not for the first time since he left the company’s studio he wondered what might’ve happened if he hadn’t been interrupted. Something that could worm its way in the tabloids if he was too careless. But he had a feeling it’d be well worth the risk.

“Tell you what,” Viktor said, snapping back to the present before he risked accidentally ignoring Yuri again. “Why don’t you finish eating your food—” he pointed to the scattered remains of Yuri’s Happy Meal “—and then I’ll watch you play with your friends until we have to leave.”

“Deremotfwends,” Yuri muttered around the fistful of fries he shoveled into his mouth.

“Don’t talk with your mouth full, Yurasha. You know better.”

“I _said_ ,” Yuri huffed after he washed down his food with a swig of chocolate milk, “they’re not my friends. There’s only boring babies here. I’m a big kid.”

“Well, in that case…” Viktor started, tapping the side of his chin. “I guess that means it’s time to leave then? I was going to let you stay a little longer, but if you want to go home now…”

“No, not yet!” Yuri leaped from his chair and bounced on the balls of his sock-clad feet. “I want to stay longer! And get ice cream!”

“You can have a bowl of ice cream after we get home. Remember, we’re having a movie night later.” Viktor attempted to clean up the mess Yuri left behind by shoving paper wrappers onto the plastic serving tray. “You can play here for ten more minutes, starting in three, two—”

Yuri shot off like a rocket before the countdown hit one, letting loose a loud roar as he charged up the playgrounds. Viktor shook his head at Yuri’s antics and sighed; at least if Yuri ran all of his exuberant energy out now it meant a greater chance of him falling asleep at a decent time later that night. Viktor was always amazed by how much energy Yuri contained within his tiny skinny body, unable to remember having that much himself in his entire life. He assumed he did once, maybe when he was around Yuri’s age, but for the longest time now, the only thing Viktor could remember was the numbing fatigue pressing him inwards from every which angle, determined to compact him until nothing remained. He hid its effects with carefully crafted makeup application to the dark circles under his eyes, a flash of a dazzling white smile to imitate a facsimile of happiness, and numerous shots of espresso way past the recommended daily dosage.

None of it was Yuri’s fault, either. Viktor had been burning at both ends for a while, way before—

Ah. Right. That was the thing no one ever told him about extreme, gut-wrenching loss: the stark contrast between the compartmentalized _before_ and _now_.

Before the accident, he spent the majority of every waking hour on set, either filming his next movie or interviewing for a talk show program, keeping himself constantly busy so he didn’t have the energy for coherent thought when he crashed into a bed (and not always his own) at the end of the night. Now, away from the monotonous but at least consistent nature of work, the days blended together and dragged on for weeks, months, and he struggled to find even the simplest ways to keep himself preoccupied.

Having Yuri helped. He was another prime example of the differences from Viktor’s previous life. While Viktor loved his younger brother from the moment their mother broke the happy news of her miracle pregnancy at the age of forty-two, his adoration had always been presented in the form of belatedly mailed cards on birthdays and holidays, filled with empty promises of “ _getting together soon_ ” that never came to fruition. Now Yuri’s presence was so ingrained in Viktor’s everyday life it would be downright impossible to separate the two.

Instead of screenplays for possible future roles, Viktor read storybooks featuring brightly colored fictional characters, complete with funny voices Yuri insisted had to be used every time if Viktor wanted to “ _read it the_ right _way_.” Instead of a rigorous training regime to maintain the physique necessary to be labeled People’s “ **Sexiest Man Alive** ”, Viktor’s form of exercise was keeping up with a rambunctious almost-six-year-old who forcibly reminded him of each and every one of his twenty-seven years. Instead of rubbing elbows with studio bigwigs at elite avant-garde restaurants, nibbling on rather than actually eating his meal so he didn’t risk ruining his restrictive diet, Viktor ate whatever Yuri was eating because there was no point in making two separate dinners.

(Okay, so maybe it was also because he wanted the excuse to eat chicken nuggets and french fries every now and then, sue him.)

Whenever Viktor felt his resolve wobble and threaten to split the mask he forced on every morning in two, the situation with his brother snapped everything back in perspective. He might’ve had to bury his mother earlier than anticipated, but Yuri had lost _both_ his parents at an age where concepts of death and permanence were still in the process of being formed into concrete ideas. More than ever, he needed someone to support him through it, and somehow the position had fallen onto Viktor’s shoulders, whether he was the right person or not.

It would’ve been so easy to run away, back to the blinding glitter of Hollywood, and leave the responsibility of Yuri’s care up to their maternal grandparents. It would’ve been safe; convenient. But it wouldn’t be fair to Yuri, who was already dealing with so much. He didn’t need feelings of abandonment and loneliness on top of everything else.

(Viktor had enough experience with the latter to last them both.)

After the allotted time had passed—plus an additional minute or two to be generous—Viktor tossed the rest of their trash away before calling out, “Yura, time to go!”

He was answered by a grumble of protest, followed by the sound of tiny feet scrambling towards the slide. Good, it seemed like Yuri wasn’t going to put up too much of a struggle today. Viktor could handle a little bit of grumpiness when compared to those first stressful weeks when he and Yuri clashed like cats and dogs, the limits of brotherly love put to the ultimate test. But while Viktor had minimum to no experience with children, he had dealt with enough meltdowns from past primadonna co-stars to know how to hold his ground and tough it out.

Now, the relationship between the two siblings was still far from perfect. But he’d like to think it was improving, some days better than others.

Behind him, Viktor heard hushed conversations with murmurs of “oh my god, it’s really him!” When he turned, he spotted a group of parents whispering to each other and pointing in his direction, and gave them a friendly wave. “Hi~!”

A collective shriek rang out in the play area, the adults louder than their children for once. None of them dared approach him, for which he was secretly thankful about, at least for Yuri’s sake. When Viktor originally moved into the area, for the longest time it was impossible to set one foot in public without being mobbed. Grocery stores, amusement parks, shopping malls, even the pediatrician’s office; he and Yuri hadn’t been able to go anywhere without being bombarded by noisy paparazzi or exuberant fans. Of course, Viktor was accustomed to it, well practiced by now in means of handling the situation. But for Yuri, who was already sullen and withdrawn from his parents’ abrupt passing, the unwelcome attention seemed to make him lash out in anger even more so than before.

Eventually, the appeal of a movie star living in town died down, though Viktor was still recognized every now and then. No matter if he was here for the same reason the other parents were; to them, he remained Viktor Nikiforov, the famous actor and model. Never Viktor, the poor clueless schmuck who was struggling to figure out this whole personal guardian gig just like everyone else.

He turned back just in time to catch Yuri popping out of the bottom of the slide with his bent fingers held up like sharp claws. He pounced on the ground with a feline snarl and then whipped his head towards Viktor’s direction. “Did you see me that time?”

“I did, great job!” Viktor said as he handed over Yuri’s tiger-striped light-up sneakers. He had never known of any other kids to be so obsessed with animal print, but at least it made picking out outfits easy. As long it involved big cats in some form, Yuri would wear it and be happy, which was more than enough to satisfy Viktor. “Are you ready to go?”

“Yeah, I guess.” Yuri gave a half-hearted shrug while trying to downplay his yawn. Viktor magnanimously hid his smile at the sight.

After piling into Viktor’s pink Cadillac—which he refused to trade in for the stereotypical mini-van, no matter if it was considered a rite of passage into parenthood or not—it was a short drive home. Well, it wasn’t Viktor’s home, not really. As a child, he and his mother moved around too much to really settle down anywhere for long enough, always bouncing from place to place depending on where Mama could find odd jobs. And the gigantic estate he owned out in California was less of a dwelling and more of an expertly decorated storage unit for his belongings, as stark and quiet as a tomb. Someplace he lived _with_ rather than _in_. 

Truthfully, Viktor wasn’t sure what a home was supposed to feel like. He could only assume the former Plisetsky household was the closest thing. He had never resided there himself, already living on his own for a couple of years by the time his mother remarried, so he found the familiar signs of her presence around the place comforting, welcoming. A multitude of photographs she had taken over the years hung on the walls in homage to both Viktor and Yuri’s childhoods, with an understandably more definitive focus on the latter. Her favorite linen quilt, hand-stitched by her great-aunt and one of the few meager possessions they were able to transport over from Russia, was draped over the back of the overstuffed couch in the living room. Her brightly painted Lomonosov porcelain dish set was still stacked in the kitchen cupboards, including the teacup Viktor had accidentally chipped when he was five.

He could’ve replaced it by now. Hell, he could’ve purchased an entirely new set a hundred times over. But every time he offered, his mother would shake her head and laugh, citing sentimental reasons for holding onto the cup. It had become something of a running joke within the family; whenever he visited for dinner, all his drinks had been served in it, no matter what.

Now it served as a sobering reminder of how he hadn’t visited as much in the recent years as he would’ve liked, as much as he should’ve done. He couldn’t remember the last time he had sat down to a meal with Mama before she joined his Papa in heaven. And now he’d never have the chance again.

The thump of shoes hitting the wall jarred Viktor from such thoughts. Despite repeated reminders there was a hallway closet for a reason, Yuri always dropped his things off by the front door, like a snake shedding its skin. Next came his backpack, his scarf followed by his hat and mittens, and then his black puffy down jacket. Before Viktor could say anything about the haphazard pile of outerwear on the floor, Yuri took a running leap and dive-bombed face first into the couch, the furniture letting out a creaky groan in protest.

Makkachin came bounding into the foyer a half second later, nearly bowling Viktor over with ecstatic doggy kisses. Even after intensive training with one of those celebrity dog whisperers she still hadn’t shaken the habit of tackling people as a greeting, and at her advanced age, she probably never would. Viktor could never find it in his heart to reprimand her for her enthusiasm though. He gave her multiple pats on the head as he bent down to gather Yuri’s things. “So, what movie are we watching tonight?”

Yuri shot off the couch and scrambled over to the entertainment system, turning on the big screen television. “Lion King!”

“Again?” Viktor chuckled. Really, he should’ve known; the list of movies in the Yuri Plisetsky favorites collection was very short and most definitely biased towards the feline family tree. “Haven’t we watched it enough times?” After letting Makkachin out to romp around the fenced backyard, he returned to slide down on the couch, backpack in hand to check Yuri’s school folder for any notes or assignments from Yuri’s teacher. If he didn’t do it now, it was likely they’d both forget, triggering yet another awkward phone call from the school. But to be fair, what kind of sadistic person assigned homework to five-year-olds, and on a weekend no less? “Are you _surrrrre_ you don’t want to watch one of my movies?”

The look of pure disgust on Yuri’s face was priceless. “Ugh, no way!” He shouted, borderline screeching. “All your movies are boring and have gross kissing!” He stuck a finger in his mouth and let out a loud gagging sound.

And here Viktor thought he was supposed to be the dramatic one in the family. “Just wait until you get older and we’ll see what you feel about kissing then.” Oh god, the sudden, terrifying realization he’d likely deal with a prepubescent teenage Yuri one day was liable to cause premature baldness. Viktor mourned the future loss of his hair already.

He’d much rather be engaged in some “gross kissing.” Especially if it was with a certain doe-eyed party entertainer—

“Ew, no.” Yuri wrinkled his nose and hit the remote’s play button with more force than necessary.

As the few notes of “The Circle of Life” began to play, Viktor turned his attention back to Yuri’s folder. Inside was a cheerful looking flier, plastered with xeroxed clip-art of smiling hearts and words written in Comic Sans, reminding him of the Valentine’s Day class party next Friday. Immediately he put a note in his phone to pick up some boxed valentines over the weekend, and maybe also some themed cupcakes and treats if it was allowed. He would hate to have a repeat of last time; when he forgot to pick up decorations for the school’s winter holiday party, Yuri had acted sullen towards him the entire week afterward.

(Well, more so than usual.)

Behind the flier was a folded piece of pink construction paper. The anglicized spelling of his name was written in Yuri’s scrawl, followed by a hasty scribble of it in Cyrillic. Viktor smiled at the sight; he knew the school wanted Yuri to focus on his English more than the Russian spoken at home. But while Viktor agreed a firm grasp of the English language was important, he wanted Yuri to hold onto his cultural roots as well. If not for their staunchly traditional mother’s sake more than anything else.

“Yura?” he asked, holding up the paper. “What’s this?”

“We made Valentine’s Day cards for our family today,” Yuri said, his eyes flickering briefly from the screen. “I thought it was dumb but my teacher made us do it. So I drawed you Makkachin.”

Ah, that explained the brown curly blob and the blue droplets Viktor suspected were supposed to be drool. “‘Drew,’” Viktor corrected gently. “And thank you. Did you make any more?”

Yuri huffed at the distraction, though it wasn’t like he hadn’t seen it so many times he’d wore out a DVD once already. “Dedushka Yasha has ice skates for his coaching,” he rattled off while pointing to the stack of cards, “babushka Lilya has ballet slippers for hers, and dedushka Kolya has pirozhki because he makes the best ones ever.”

Viktor’s smile grew with each explanation, freezing in place when he noticed there were two cards left, their edges slightly crumpled. He didn’t need to ask who they were for; he could guess by the spring garden doodled on the front of one.

Mama always loved flowers.

Before Viktor could say anything about them, Yuri snatched the two cards away and clutched them to his chest, twisting around so Viktor couldn’t see his face. 

“...Yura?”

“JJ said it was dumb,” Yuri mumbled, so faint Viktor could barely hear him, still refusing to look Viktor in the eye. “He said you can’t give cards to dead people.”

Oh.

Nothing in the parent support groups or online forums could ever prepare Viktor for this conversation. “...Well,” he said after a weighted pause, his smile strained. “It doesn’t matter what’s-his-name thinks, you and I will figure something out! Maybe we can visit dedushka Yasha and babushka Lilya this weekend and see if they know what we should do.”

Yuri nodded weakly and turned his attention back to the movie, his limbs tucked tight underneath himself and making him appear even smaller than usual. He’d always been on the scrawny side for his age, so different from Viktor who constantly had to have the hem on his pants let out and lengthened as a child. Learning to adjust his own clothes is what got him into fashion in the first place, which led to modeling and then acting. All because he felt bad for Mama barely being able to afford him new clothes before he outgrew them a few months later. 

Viktor reached out a hesitant hand, to either pat Yuri on the shoulder or ruffle his hair in a gesture of support. But he decided against it at the last minute, not sure Yuri would appreciate it. Instead, he pushed himself off the couch and asked, “Ready for your ice cream?”

“Uh, _yeah_. I’ve been ready,” Yuri snapped, which Viktor supposed was the best response he was going to get at the moment.

After heading into the kitchen, Viktor took out two sets of bowls and spoons before locating the ice cream in the freezer, the conversation with Yuri playing on repeat in his head. Should he have responded differently, said something more encouraging? Maybe hug Yuri and tell him it’d be alright?

Viktor didn’t know. He was never that great at comforting people. When he wanted to make them happy, he gave and gave and gave what he thought they wanted from him; from the man known far and wide to the general public as _the_ Viktor Nikiforov. But now, with his titles and accolades stripped away and rendered meaningless in the situation, he stood alone in his former mother’s kitchen, not sure what there was left of him to offer.

If anything at all.

Outside the patio door leading to the backyard, Makkachin barked once to signal she wanted back inside. As soon as Viktor slid open the glass door, she barreled past his legs and made a beeline for the living room to beg Yuri for attention. Yuri liked to claim the poodle was too loud, too rough, too smelly; that a cat would be a “ _billion times_ ” better as a pet. Yet there were mornings where Viktor would search for Makka to let her out, only to find her locked in between Yuri’s arms, her soft, calming presence a boon against the night terrors that sometimes plagued him.

Still, maybe it was finally time for Yuri to have an animal companion to call his own. He was old enough to be somewhat responsible for a cat, even if meant Viktor would undoubtedly wind up as the one who took care of the litter box.

Viktor would start researching his options later in the week. For right now, he focused on scooping two large servings of ice cream, topped with the rainbow sprinkles and chocolate sauce Yuri always insisted upon.

(Truth be told, Viktor preferred it that way too, now that he no longer needed to automatically add the numbers from fat and calories up in his head.)

“Yura,” he called out as he re-entered the living room. “Here you go!”

He heard nothing but the last strains of “I Just Can’t Wait to Be King” in response. When he rounded the couch, he saw the reason why: Yuri was curled up in the corner, already passed out for the night. Even while unconscious, he still gripped the cards he had made earlier in his hands, the ink from the washable markers slightly smeared.

Ice cream would have to wait. While Yuri would be upset in the morning (and no doubt try to wheedle his way into eating it for breakfast), trying to wake him up for it now would be next to impossible. He let out a grunt of protest when Viktor picked him up but otherwise remained fast asleep as Viktor carried him upstairs to his bedroom. 

Forgoing the hassle of changing into pajamas and brushing teeth for the night, Viktor placed Yuri straight into bed, tucking the comforter up around his shoulders. Seeing him there, swamped within the covers of the twin size bed, reminded Viktor that despite Yuri’s repeated insistence he was a “big kid,” he was still so small, defenseless, and needing of Viktor’s protection. 

“Good night, Yura,” Viktor whispered, thinking Yuri was too out of it to hear him. He jumped a little when he swore he heard Yuri mumble back, “‘Night, Vitya.”

Vitya. Yuri had called him _Vitya_. Not “Viktor” like Yuri had been using this entire time, even though he was well versed with the idea of diminutives and had Viktor’s explicit permission to use them.

Despite the age difference, they were brothers after all. Family. And Yuri’s acknowledgment of it, unconscious or not, settled warmly around Viktor’s heart and gave a tender squeeze.


End file.
